Defiant Survivor
by SayMyNameBitches
Summary: A story focusing on Nate as the zombie apocalypse begins. Exploring his past as well as the events that shape him into the person he becomes. / 18 Contains sexual themes/assault, violence, murder etc. [THIS is a first draft, I will revamp/go over it once I've finished it. :)]
1. Chapter 1 Too Drunk to Give a Damn

Stumbling in at a time past midnight but luckily enough before four, Nate slathers a hand against the door of his apartment attempting to feel for entry in the darkness. Fingers fumble against keys while a drunken gaze looks the keyhole. Luckily enough, it isn't long before he somehow manages to click the door open and allow himself into his safe place. Possibly the reason Nate always found his way home so easily when he was drunk was probably due to the consistency of his night's out.

Every night consisted of the same thing. After finishing at the same time every day of five past five in the evening, he'd wish his co-workers a sound goodbye before wandering toward the nearest pub. It always bothered him that his colleagues seemed to want 'in' on his life so much. Working with a bunch of forty-somethings and a few twenty-nothings meant that he'd found himself surrounded by awkward sexual tension and boring conversation. On one side, he'd noted that two of his colleagues were easily fucking one another whenever the chance arose and in the other ball park, he could see that the guy who drove the other delivery truck had a pretty hot daughter and that dude who had employed him was a massive asshole.

Regardless of any interesting or beneficial qualities his co-workers may have possessed, Nate was never very much interested in socializing with them at all. A few times, he'd experienced those awkward moments where he'd actually ran into them during his lonesome, drunken adventures but almost always after the first obligatory drink, he'd find an excuse to escape. My grandmother just clocked it, my pet goldfish needs feeding, the circus is in town and I really wanted to see that one freak. Whatever came to Nate's mind. Whatever way he could escape his colleagues; he'd use. Hell, give a man a spoon and he'll dig his way outta prison. That's exactly how Nate saw it.

Even when Nate did find himself alone and enjoying the company of a sweet glass of jack, he'd receive the odd text from one of his hindrances.

hi n8 wut u up 2?

That annoyed him. His name was clearly spelt with an a, t and also and e. Yet his colleagues didn't get that. They were almost too fucking stupid or too lazy to even type those few letters. It gave him a headache almost any time he'd look down to his phone.

hey nathan any chance you could come in earlier tomorrow? got the big bosses from hr coming in and things need to be tip top! thanks john

Fuck off, asshole. Hell, that grated him too. By no means was Nate Shakespeare, yet it always bothered him how John would finish his texts with 'thanks john'. Like he was thanking himself. Hell, his asshole boss probably was thanking himself. Giving himself a big old pat on the back for all of his 'hard work'. The guy was really good at cracking a whip. That and being a douchebag.

For the past few months, Nate's drinks had been hard and straight. The fact of the matter was that his drinking had worsened in the past year. Ever since Brie. Things between them had become so warped, so painful that it'd taken a toll upon Nate. Despite being barely 31, it'd aged him. He'd gone from reasonably happy and relaxed to tense and quiet. Preferring only his thoughts over other people's company.

Now he found that his drinking was routine. The sad routine of a lonely man who was too bitter and way too damn angry to socialize any more than he was paid to. His drinking reached dizzying heights that he'd be far too embarrassed and way too proud to indulge anyone with.

Despite usually being once or twice a week that he'd usually frequent the bar, lately; it'd been every day of the week.

Of all the days; today had been a particularly rough day for the trucker. Today was a day brim with humiliation and embarrassment.

As per usual; he'd made his way to work. Few miles up the highway before driving down the high street and along side his familiar route, he'd seen - her.

Every morning she was stood there. Her name, who knew? Nate called her 'legs'. Eight forty-five every morning she stood waiting patiently for her bus to pull in, long blonde locks drooped over her shoulders. Her - legs - always a main attraction hidden barely behind a cute pencil skirt and her slim yet curvaceous body adorned forever with tight shirts or open buttoned tops. Everything about the mystery girl was a dream to Nate and it soon reached the point in which he found himself driving the exact same route and leaving at the exact same time ready to see her every morning.

Not once did she look his way; but every time he drove past her, he'd look at her body, her hair - in her eyes. And he adored her.

There were a few times he could barely contain his excitement after seeing her; times in which he'd find himself smacking his fingers down upon the steering wheel, drumming along to whatever tune was on the radio and badly singing along to the words. He'd always felt desperate for her attention. Perhaps it was a lonely cry for help. A plea for someone to take notice of him. Some deep-seated Freudian excuse probably lurked that deep down he actually wanted his mother, but Nate'd be the first person to scoff at that bullshit theory. On one occasion, he'd been so taken aback by her short skirt and magnificent thighs that the second he'd reached work he'd ran to the bathroom before releasing his desires in the toilet stalls.

Nate felt like he was in love. Legs was everything that Brie, his ex, was not. Beautiful and thin with friendly features and a devilish sexuality that brimmed from her skin with an alluring glow. It drove him crazy, placing him on edge and causing his heart to pound from his chest. It'd been well over a year since his viscous split from Brie. It'd been over something horrible. Something Nate hadn't spoken about to anyone. When shocked acquaintances pretended they cared about his breakup and asked why the 'lovebirds' could ever do that, he'd simply shrugged and pretended it was mutual. It was not mutual. It was a ticking time bomb waiting to go off and when it exploded both parties had come away wounded.

Legs kept Nate going for now. She kept his mind on something that was a little more sweeter than porn and ever-so-more real to boot. It was like a breath of life to the withered disinterest the man had shown to everyone else around him. Nate wanted Legs, he wanted to belong to her and her only.

That particular morning however; things had changed. After weeks of arriving at the same lonely apartment and hearing of his friend's engagements, weddings and babies; he finally decided on an intervention. Leaving at his usual eight thirty two am, by the time he'd reached her usual spot. His palms were sweaty and his heart was racing. Despite anxiety, Nate placed a brave smirk across his face as he slowed his car beside her and rolled the pane down.

When her eyes met his, his heart practically jumped from his chest. She was down-right beautiful.

"Hey-" Thinking back to the event was humiliating as he wondered how he'd even managed a word. "Every morning I drive past you. Every morning I see you and - I mean. I think you're beautiful." Perhaps he just wasn't the romantic type? Maybe women looked to him with the same disdain they saw ugly people with, or creeps. Perhaps that's how she saw him - as a creep. Because after he'd finished his pitch, the woman had scowled and turned and laughed before rejecting him with a spit and a roll of her eyes. Blood had flushed his cheeks an embarrassing red and his eyes had shifted wide and stunned to the onlookers. A few teenagers and an old man looked as though they were cackling at him. Enjoying his discomfort.

Nate's heart sunk and his stomach formed into a knot that quickly made it's way high up into his throat. Despite 150Ibs of pure masculinity sitting in the front of his truck, he felt as frail as a child and as weak as a sick person. If it weren't for the blush across his cheeks, Nate would've looked like a damn corpse looking at the woman with such wide, dead eyes. Further humiliating him, she looked back at him with a scowl. Even mocking, she was beautiful.

"What makes you think I'd wanna date you, creep?" She'd struck back. Similar to a Cobra destroying it's prey. "Look at you. I bet your truck makes up for your tiny cock, huh? Is that it? Is that why you don't already have a girlfriend? Or maybe it's because you creep on women from the safety of your car? Men like you…" Before she could finish her rant, he'd wound the window up as tightly as possible and sped away in shock. Had it been in a bar on a night out he'd probably have told her to fuck off or flipped her the bird, hell if he was full of dutch courage he probably would've ranted back about "blueball giving whores" such as herself. But instead, sitting in surprise and humiliation, he opted to escape.

To her - he was nothing but an annoying glitch in the day. Spoiling her morning. She'd never knew that to him - she was a dream. A mystery of love he wished to one day embrace. It'd cut him too deeply that day, destroying his pride harshly.

Head falling into his hands, Nate collapses to the ground in a drunken state as he slams the apartment door behind him. If he wasn't so wasted, he was sure he'd be angry. Truth was; he was far too tired to even think of his rage right now. Instead, he found himself consumed by embarrassment.

He crawls along the floor of his tiny, narrow apartment. Dragging himself via his fingernails against the carpet toward his pet Goldfish, Snowball. In a drunken state of interest, he feels that Snowball needs feeding.

Ever stolen a goldfish before? Nate could quite confidently say that he had. It was the Winter of the year before and Nate'd been hanging whatever old clothes he'd remembered to wash out onto the communal washing line he shared with the other tenants of the apartment block. One guy, Lenny - as they all called him, owned a pond. Truth be told, it didn't belong to him. Hell, it didn't belong to anyone. But Lenny claimed it as his own. He was an old sack of shit with not one reasonable bone in his body. The kind of guy who'd bang your door down for playing your music two beats too loud, or the kind of geezer who'd put passive aggressive notes around the corridors. Nate felt he was an asshole of a grand proportion. But generally; he stayed well and truly from the line of fire. Until that day. As Nate had placed his boxers and shirts over the washing line, he'd noticed Lenny's eyes glaring over at him. After a few seconds of awkward realization, he'd finally turned to face the source.

"What can I help you with, Len?" He'd asked reasonably, with a hint of skepticism.

"Nothing" Len'd spat back "I'm just a little pissed as all." Lenny had responded with that patronizing as shit 'country-boy' accent of his. He was well into his mid-fifties yet was still trying to be John Wayne. Nate was convinced that shit had ended when had come along. Holding his eyes from rolling with a long blink, Nate nodded a question.

"So, what's up, Len?" He forced himself to ask, but he didn't really care.

"Well, boy." That's annoying. "My carp, all my carp are gone. An'…an my damn goldfish. They all gone up and died. Some - asshole - has been poisoning them."

"Ever consider it's 'cause of the cold? Freezing my balls off out here…" It was lucky it wasn't snowing,otherwise Nate's washing would've never gotten dry. "Maybe that's why your fish are dying? 'Cause they're freezing their fishy balls off."

Len didn't respond with any words, instead just a spiteful glare and an angry shake of his big, bald head. Oh man did Nate want to shit in his cornflakes. The guy was a grade-A prick. He was always accusing the tenants of various shit. Today it was poisoning his fish. Yesterday it was treading crap through the hallway. Whatever it was, it was tiresome, tedious and never welcome.

Nate shrugged at his fellow tenant and then he watched him leave with a glare that wanted to pierce daggers in the other man's back. Thinking about how much he hated Len for a few seconds while he placed his washing across the freezing line. It came to him quickly how he wanted to bother the other man. Forever the prankster, Nate couldn't stop himself from grinning. He was going to steal a fish. Just…just fucking go for it and nick it. Maybe put it in his kitchen sink for a little while. He'd call it Bub after that zombie from what was that film called and it'd be his best man at his wedding. What a beautiful thought.

He'd edged toward the pond like a thief pocketing whatever in a shop, sneaky and abrasive. Then before he'd known it, he'd reached it and somehow miraculously caught a fish in his hands. Well, there were only a few in there anyway and the cold made them swim around like ice cubes. Upon catching the creature, it flopped and struggled in his hands. Nate damn-near almost dropped it before he broke into an insane laughter and rushed back to his apartment.

After that things just sort of, to excuse the pun, flowed. Nate had thrown the fish into his sink and he'd made sure to use filtered water rather than tap water because he'd remembered hearing something once about nitrates or whatever it was. During the weekend, he'd bought a tank, set it up, complete with a filter, a cute LED light and a pretty bitching display. Hell, he'd spent way over $100 on it. Especially after the shop assistant had told him that a goldfish'd grow as long as his hand.

Over time; Bub had become Snowball and Snowball was referred to as a real ass kicker. Len'd never found out about what had happened to one of his surviving fish, but by god did he accuse as many people as he could of - killing, losing and even eating the fish. But never did he ask anyone if they'd - stolen - his fish.

Recalling his memories of his little friend, Nate gropes around the cupboard for some fishy flakes. Everyone told him flakes were the worst, that his fish would gulp the air too often and get a sickness something awful, but Nate called bullshit on that one. Unthinkingly prying open the lid, he presses his nose against the glass of the tank and begins to empty it's contents.

"Little Snowball's gonna get so much fuckin' food. He's going to grow big and strong…" Nate imitates a Russian accent…badly "like Russian bear." It isn't long before he's fallen back to his knees and collapsed next to a pile of fish flakes.

Grunting as he lay his body against the floor. The exhausted man gropes the ground and he finds himself falling into a slumber. As his stomach rumbles with sickness and his head begins to pound - he falls into a deep sleep. It's a Thursday night and he'd work in the morning. But for now sleep was more important than the oncoming day.

Shooting awake against the ground, Nate coughs what he can only assume is the remnants of hours old whiskey from his throat. Head banging as though full of fire, Nate rises to his full 5ft 11″ height and scans the room. Barely seeing through his hungover eyes, he continues to cough. God knows what he'd smoked last night to make him choke so.

One of the first things he notices is Snowball. Upside down, his belly flat across the surface of the water. Nate's no expert; but Snowball's tummy is inflated and rotten-looking. His precious fish is dead. Dragged into the filter and sucked of all life. Spying it causes him to frown sadly and hang his head. You could argue - it was just a fish. But fuck that mentality, it was his friend. Snowball didn't take any shit from anyone and Nate had respected that.

Nate wasn't going to mourn a fish, however. Instead, he adjusts himself to the world around him; it takes him a few moments and a cheeky cup of coffee for him to realize what day it actually is. Friday. Last working day of the week. And alongside the realization, Nate spies a clock that states the time is eleven eighteen am. Almost three hours after he was meant to start.

Panic forms a knot in his chest as he rushes for the door, unthinking to even throw a shirt and tie on for his place of work. So, dressed in jeans and a white sleeveless top, he rushes from the door. It's not until he's raced down two flights of stairs that he finds it odd there's not been a ring from his asshole boss asking him where he was. Hell; even the apartment around him seems oddly quiet. Slowing down at the last few steps, he pulls a half-charged phone from his back pocket and stares at it curiously.

No texts. No Calls. No signal.

Weird.

Raising a brow at the oddness, he pockets the phone before slowly leaving the building. Hands slide across the glass and the door creates a creak as he leaves. Seconds after leaving the building his ears are pierced by an unfamiliar noise.

Screaming.

Alarmed not only by the shout but also by his now throbbing hangover, he runs to the source. Fumbling over his own feet, he traces back toward the scream to find a woman surrounded by three men. It's daytime and yet the scene looks like a murder. Blood decorates the ground as well as the three villains as the woman crawls away - her ankle badly broken and her foot twisted and torn into a gory injury.

"Holy shit." Nate edges beneath his breath; watching the event with shock and confusion across his tired features. While he stands like a voyeur, analyzing the situation, the woman holds an open palm out toward him and screams for a rescue. Despite her acknowledgment of Nate, the other men don't take any notice of him and instead they charge for her.

Placing a palm over his agape mouth, Nate watches as the men begin to tear and slash at the woman. Their movements aren't natural, human; instead they're brutal and cannibalistic. Soon enough their teeth are biting through her flesh and her screams only become more desperate and scared. Horrified, Nate charges forward and pulls one of the men off of the victim.

"What the fuck is wrong with you guys?!" Fear is disguised by guile as Nate stands against the men. Despite his current new-found strength he quickly finds himself intimidated when all three focus their attention onto him. Blood drips from their lips and drugged up eyes pierce Nate's body and take a firm grasp upon his soul. Looking to the attackers makes him feel like a scared child and soon he finds himself frozen in fear.

Everything was happening too quickly; too suddenly. He couldn't be sure if it was the alcohol leaving his system or the reluctance at facing such ghouls that caused it; but his body was shaking like a shower of shit and he knew they could tell. Glancing toward the woman, by this point he figures she'd pretty much be fucking dead before he decides to high-tail it out of there.

His legs seem to run faster than ever before away from the threat as tears well in his eyes and his heart beats in tune to his fear. Rushing toward the door, he attempts the code for the apartments a few times before well and truly giving up and instead heading toward the road. Minutes go by before he finds himself in the middle of town.

"F-f-f-fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" Expletives spew from his shaking lips and soon he finds himself far from the trio. Eyeing his hand, he forces his free hand to grip it due to his uncontrollable shaking. Caught up in the moment created a bubble of anxiety and fear for the confused man until he notices the town around him. Everything looks the same, but with a red filter. Blood pastes across roads, decorates cars and slathers over anything else. Corpses litter across the street and Nate wonders just what the fuck happened during the night.

Circling his surroundings on shaky legs, Nate fears the worst. Everyone's dead. He's the last man alive and the thought terrifies him. Despite wanting so long for people to leave him alone and let him to his own devices, being alone right now seemed the most frightening thing possible. Loneliness scared him almost more so than the corpses that obstructed his view.

Nate creeps along the pavement, slow steps guide him along the road. Never had he'd thought he'd have to edge his way through cracks of blood on the ground, stifle his way across bodies and waste of all kinds. His body shivers, his heart races at a million miles per hour. Nate hadn't felt so scared before. In his case, also involuntarily lonely too.

Breaking the dominating silence, a voice rings through the air. Like a safety net wrapping it's way around Nate and dragging his attention toward it, he thanks the heavens. What luck.

"Over her, man! Come on! This way!"

Flickering his eyes toward the noise, a shaky Nate races toward the source before being welcomed into the boarded building. An old pub that'd been decked out into a substitute fortress. Breathing hard and dying for a cigarette, he relaxes against the wall. His body still writhing with the shakes.

The bar wasn't long abandoned. The place just looked like it'd been host to a damn riot with it's wreckage of a lounge. Tables were tipped against windows and chairs thrown to the side to make way for only the patrons would know what. The bar taps were still leaking and the familiar scent of alcohol and smoke within it's walls had now been tainted by the metallic smell of blood and death. Looking at his surroundings, Nate's clearly taken back by the environment. Even for him the scent is a little too strong. Knocking him back with a palm held firmly against his nose.

Peaking from the darkness, the voice is matched with a face. A young woman to be exact. With a brunette bunch of curls hauled up into a bun upon her head and a plump body covered by a summer dress and sandals. Despite a kind face and innocent eyes, she looks too damn similar to Brie for him to smile at her warmly. Hell, just the slight familiarity between the two makes him reel away and look to the floor. Despite such coincidences, when Nate looks back to her, a small smile forms across her thin lips and her eyes look almost as frightened as his.

"Are you okay?" She asks with good-intention before a man appears to nudge Nate into the door. The man is damn-near covered lip to eyebrow with piercings and wears a messy beard with longish hair. He looks like a hell's angel with his tattoos and tough guy scowl. Nearing what Nate would describe as easily 240Ibs, the guy's an intimidating 6ft 3″ to boot. Everything from his attitude to his physicality is another frightening reality for the trucker.

"Guess it's nice to see someone else who isn't dead." The man comments.

Catching his breath; Nate's eyes are wide and desperate while he looks to the girl with the friendly albeit scarily familiar face intently.

"Is everyone dead…?"

Sympathy sweeps across her expression before she places a hand upon his shoulder.

"Most people are…" It'd been twenty-four hours since it'd begun and at this very moment, barely six survivors stood within the hideout. "My name's Tasha…who're you?"

Nate ignores the question and instead falls to his ass, his legs spread before him. His head hangs low. Depressed.

"Everyone's dead, but us?" He repeats. It's not a question, however. More of a musing he wishes not to be answered. A hand runs through his hair while he leans his head back into the wooden pane of the door. "…"

It's difficult to talk now so instead Nate opts to sit and stare at the ground with a longing look in his eyes.

"I'm Nate." He finally says.


	2. Chapter 2 The group

Minutes had quickly turned to hours. It wasn't until Nate's ass began to feel sore and his legs achy that he finally stood back up. Around him were people he'd never seen before and most certainly would've never known before this. One of them looks a little similar to that asshole, Len, he used to live beside only around 100Ibs lighter and with a small rim of hair around his bald patch. Unlike Len, this man is near-silent and has the eyes of a terrified mongoose. His name is Eric, Tasha says and he was the first one to board up the pub.

Nate assumes he's an alcoholic.

Eric was at work when the crisis happened. A patrol officer is what you'd call him but it sounded a lot cooler than it actually was. His job was to watch security feeds and monitor activity within the town. Catch out bad guys and answer phones before ringing for the real heroes to stop them. With premature balding, a couple of kids and a wife that could be easily mistaken for a grizzly bear, Eric was a timid, down-to-earth man. His children were named after comic book characters after he'd been a very enthusiastic dork through college and he also owned a pet Jack Russell named Chubs. Overall, Eric was the epiphany of normal.

 _When the crisis had began it was 2;45am, Eric would've been finishing his shift at 5:00am and the thought, alongside a bag of Hershey's Kisses would get him through the night. It was around 3:00am that they began to notice abnormality on the cameras. Now, people can be violent. Eric knew that much. But the violence that began to appear thick and fast was erratic and strange. It took everyone back and before they had time to theorize about riots and the like, the phone had began ringing like hell's bells._

 _"H…h…hello?"  
"Hello there, you've reached Trightford City Police. What is your emergency?"  
"I need help. Please. Please god I need help…"  
"Okay, mam. Calm down. What's the problem?"  
"Everyone's dead…everybody is dead."  
"Okay, mam. Can you tell me an address and I'll send someone out right away."  
"No…you…you can't kill them."  
"Mam, please. I need you to tell me an address."  
"There's nothing we can do…you don't understand…"  
"Mam, I'm trying to understand. please I-"  
"they're dead…"  
"Mam -!"  
"But they're still walking…They're coming toward me..please..god, help me!"_

 _Before Eric could've scoffed at a prank call or a malicious phone in, the dialogue was axed sharply by a scream. With a look of horror across his aged, pasty white features, he grimaced._

 _'What in the hell…?"_

 _After that, most of what had happened had been a blur for the middle-aged misfit. Work had quickly been dismissed due to panic and disorder and although a few firm, loyal coworkers had stayed; Eric had retreated home in fear of his family._

 _Upon finding them, his wife was distraught and his boys practically epileptic through fear._

Whatever had happened after that had caused the man to age practically ten more years and develop an anxiety disorder within the space of hours. Nate could only assume the worse; especially considering the way that Eric had been holed up within the bar _well and truly alone._ Not a pretty face or two adorable cherubs to be seen anywhere near by. A shiver traveled up Nate's spine toward his brain before causing a revelation something awful that what little dysfunctional family he had could be well and truly _dead_.

"There's no way out." The smallish man piped up from beneath his widely-framed glasses. His eyes bulged like that of a bug behind a magnifying glass. There was something Nate found a little jarring about his stature; the man stood hunched over like a dwarf stuck in a box. Eyes squinted his way, Nate found himself drawn to the man's words. Who'd said anything about getting out anyway?

"We're fightin' for nothing…" Eric didn't even seem to be talking to the group. Rather, himself. He'd be musing and mumbling in the corner of the bar. Shaking back and forth as though he's on day release. The conservative Nate shakes his head toward the scene and exchanges a concerned glance over with Tasha. Her curls bounce before her ears and her breasts seem to follow suit as she wanders over toward Nate.

Despite her slightly hefty frame, Tasha seemed to have a glow about her. A grace that Nate was more than a little drawn to. Perhaps it was a similar thing that had first wet his beak with Brie? When he'd first met her that night in the bar all them years ago.

 _Nate was 23, Brie was 25. He'd found himself drinking socially; after working for his father's dismal factory business, Nate had luckily made some friends from it at least. It was a Friday night and spirits were high. Drinking away the week and welcoming the weekend with a fresh hangover, Nate had ordered a full round for everyone at the table when he'd seen her._

 _Brie was an average looking bird, a plump-ish flower of a woman with wide hazel eyes and a beautiful flowing up-knot pony tail of golden hair. There was a soft motherly look about her, a nurturing kindness that surrounded her and burst through her skin with a tanned, olive glow. As Nate stood at the bar awaiting his drinks, the young man spied the woman looking to him. She'd been dragged out onto a night on the town with her friends and looked reluctant to be there. Her initially shy eyes had looked up at Nate once, twice and then he noticed three times._

 _Slightly drunk but mostly high on his own confidence, he'd looked to Brie with a cute grin before calling to the waiter._

 _"Can I get another for this beautiful woman, too?"_

 _At the comment, Brie had initially looked to Nate once a little surprised before doing a double take when she'd realized that he was talking about her. A flush of red had sprang across her cheeks and she'd instantly assumed he was playing a cruel joke on her. It wasn't until Nate had shuffled up close to her, asked a name and ordered her favorite drink that she finally accepted that he genuinely liked her._

Nate looked over to Tasha with a small smile, one she wouldn't understand the meaning behind. Leaning back into the wall beside him, the woman looked to him with a shy gaze.

"…Nate…" she caught his attention "how're you feeling?"

The question is small-talk. Small talk Nate sort of hoped had ended when the world had. Still, it was early days and other than Eric in his creepy corner, the big tattooed guy pacing back and forth and the odd mother/daughter combo spying corpses through the window, Tasha's was a welcome face.

"I-uh…I'm hungover." He replied, not too certain of what to say exactly. It wasn't a total lie of a response anyway. His head was banging still, after all.

Tasha responds with a silent laugh. "I see. Is that where you were…I mean when all this happened?"

"I'd just got in, too drunk to notice anything going on around me. I just…how could all of this happened in one night?" He clears his throat. "I mean, this is fucked up. There're people literally eating each other outside. What the fuck?"

"Think I didn't notice?" she smirks sarcastically back at Nate "I'm not too sure what happened either…I was asleep." Crossing arms over her bountiful chest, Tasha laughs sadly. "Can you imagine that? Sleeping while the world ended…that's just _rich._ " There's longing and reluctance hidden in the cracks of her words. She's self-conscious, sickened by the world around her in the saddest way possible.

"…Guess we were sorta in the same boat then, eh?" His body language imitates her before he leans in close to a whisper. "What's his story then?" He looks to Eric.

"We don't know." Tasha's wide, scared eyes look back to Nate. There's a blush across her face due to his close proximity, even if he does smell of last night's alcohol. "When we got here, he was holed up behind the bar. Didn't try and fight us or anything…he hasn't said anything to us. Olivia tried to speak to him earlier…he just started crying." She looks to Nate with a worried gaze.

"Olivia?" He repeats. Tasha nods toward the mother peaking through the curtains toward the outside world. She looked confident next to her daughter, protective. "Oh. Did you get here with her?" For once, Nate feels interested in hearing someone else's story.

"No. I was with Greg." She points at ' . "I left my house to see what was going on. It was just by chance that he was passing by. Second he saw me he told me to go with him. I know about stranger danger and all of that, but…everyone around me was dead. What else could I do?"

"If I was your dad I'd scold you." He jokes, his poor attempt at easing the tension. Tasha barely responds, only a polite courtesy smile in return. Minutes pass before Nate adjusts his crotch slyly and pulls himself up from the wall. The woman looks at him with a raised brow.

"I'm dying for a piss."

His nonchalance is met with a small sigh from Tasha before he wonders toward the men's room.

"Where you going?" Greg pines toward the male before Nate points to the restroom, annoyed that everybody felt the need to know about his bathroom activities.

"I gotta take a leak, okay?" Hell, he was a human and a few - what felt like - gallons of whiskey had yet to be drained. Shuffling toward the bathroom with a firm hand holding back his bladder, he pushed open the door before being met with a rotten smell and a low growl.

"Fuck!"

Near-vomiting, the man leans into a gag while the scent fills the room. It feels like poison against his senses. Sharp and painful, forcing it's way into his nostrils and quickly down his throat. Pulling his shirt up over his nose, he slowly approaches the ghastly stench. Nostrils flare and his eyes water when he pulls a corner and spies an open stall. Despite his tendency to go for a urinal, Nate wont take any chances against that smell or those groans and decides to - albeit - very reluctantly check it out. Despite his bravery, he's still not entirely sure of what in the world he's facing. Like something out of films and comic books, it's a mystery to him. A monster that was only real to him when he was a child at bedtime.

Protecting himself with an outspread arm, Nate wonders forward and pushes the door wide. The sight before him causes another hefty gag and a look of terror.

Ahead of him, is what he'd describe as a corpse; strewn across the stall like something portrayed in a horror movie. Intestines slather over the toilet seat and are met upon the ground by a pair of legs Nate is pretty damn sure should've been attached to the body. Below them, the ground is pasted with a gross mixture of shit and blood that causes the trucker to gag once more. Blinded by the stench, Nate manages to creek his eye open to watch the scene unfold. The half-corpse chokes and groans before desperately reaching out toward him. With a fierce face barely made of half an eyeball and a bloodied mouth full of broken teeth, it somehow manages to drag itself from the seat and toward him.

Stumbling back onto a slippy floor wet with god know's what, Nate quickly finds himself ass backwards on the ground below. Horror unfolds before him as the creature falls from the toilet seat and into the pool of repulsion. Groaning menacingly at him, it drags it's body his way and snaps with it's jaws. Terrifying Nate into a scream.

"Goddamn it, someone fucking help me!" Nate calls to the main lounge of the pub as he slides back into the sinks away from the beast. Despite kicking his legs toward it, he finds himself overcome with a fear he's never felt before. Panic consumes his senses and he begins to attempt to fight the beast with half-kicks and resisting shuffles.

Thankfully, he manages to pull himself back up to a reasonable height before creating distance between himself and the ghoul. Backing into the wall, beside him the door is pushed ajar by a concerned Greg and wary Tasha.

"Oh my god!" Tasha stumbles in fear, placing a hand against Greg for protection. Greg on the other hand stands defensive of the woman. Heart pumping, he holds her tightly against him while his eyes glare at the corpse.

"What in the fuck happened to it?!" Greg's howl is panicked and fearful. Sure, he was a man of the world. He'd seen a bloody accident or two, hell even the wreckage of a crash once. But a head and torso hungrily dragging itself toward a man. No. He could quite comfortable say he'd never seen that one before.

"Fuck do I know! I came in here for a piss and almost got my dick bit off!" Nate's retort is as quick as his feet. He races toward Greg and stands beside him and Tasha, creating a trio of fear.

The corpse continues to pull it's entrails behind itself as it finds a way of closing in toward them. Moaning and grunting with every inch of a pull, the undead roars with hunger. The eyes of both men are drawn to the creature and they find themselves shivering with disgust.

"Jesus fucking Christ…" Greg stumbles back. Tasha follows.

"We gotta kill it…!" Nate's voice shakes as well as his knees, there's a sickly feeling rising within his stomach and he knows this time it isn't due to his drinking. The illness causes his abdomen to strain and ache with nerves. He'd never killed anything before. Sure, he'd hurt a person or two. Gotten into a fight here and there and once - tell a lie - he did accidentally run over a hedgehog. But he'd never murdered something or intentionally destroyed something before.

Looking to Greg and Tasha with a look begging one of them to take the helm, it comes quickly to his realization that neither would fight the good battle for him. Taking charge with the reluctance of a worm against a bird, Nate grabs the nearest _weapon_ he can.

A fire extinguisher.

 _It's heavy, but it'll do._ He thinks. Edging his way up toward the zombie, he lifts the tool high up above his head. Onlookers beside him both shout for him to just fucking do it already and everything around him appears slowed down and unnatural as he watches the creature below. He was going to murder it. Bash it's skull into a bloodier pulp than it already was and that…. _that scared Nate._

It only takes the monster to grope Nate's trouser leg for him to finally launch his attack. Hands grip firmly upon the makeshift weapon as he slams it upon it's skull. Blood begins to paint the bathroom sinks and floor with splatters. Tiles are coloured a murky shade of pink and what appears to be debris - but is actually bone - chips off into the stalls. Nate's expression is a picture of displeasure and disgust as he bashes the extinguisher down violently.

A few more hits; and it'd stopped moving completely.

"You….uh…destroy their heads." Greg perked up from beside the door. His voice cracking under the terror of witnessing a man smash a former-human's skull in.

"Thanks…" pants form Nate's response "thanks for telling me that, now. That…that helps, bro." His hand had loosened it's grip upon the tool and dropped it to the floor as he gives Greg a sarcastic thumbs up. Tasha stands by in horror, she then slowly treads toward the corpse.

"…why is this happening to us?" Her whining reminds Nate of Brie, too. "What did we do to deserve this?" Her eyes firmly fix upon the garish scene before her.

"..who knows?" Nate sighs, his body turning back to face the corpse before he flickers his gaze toward the pair. Tasha backs from the blood and heads for the exit. Greg pushes the restroom door ajar and Nate can just about see the surprised, alarmed faces of the others outside. It's only brief however and quickly Tasha has left in a silence before Greg begins to.

"Nate. You coming?" Nate can very sheepishly hear Tasha inform everyone that the situation is fine. _Whatever the hell that meant._

"Nah, man."

"What? Want some quality time with your friend there?" Greg's sense of humour doesn't do much for the trucker and he looks back to him with an unimpressed gaze.

"I need to take a leak." He repeats his intentions, for what he hopes will be the last time today. Greg looks back to him with a smile.

"Ah right, sorry." With that, he leaves.

Nate looks back to the stalls. He still feels sickly and finds himself still jittery with nerves. It'd been a crazy day. It'd been more than a crazy day, in fact. _It was fucking insane_. He unzips himself and takes hold of his cock to urinate, his heart pounds and it feels like both the longest and most awkward piss he'd ever taken. A part of him wishes he'd just woken up with the clap or simply just been late to work rather than any of this. Thinking about it, Nate'd rather a night with his ex over all of this shit.

Holding onto the thought, he smirks his nerves away before flushing and heading the sink. Pouring the water down upon bloodied hands, he spies his reflection in the cracked mirror.

Before him is a man with blood across his face, whiskey on his breath and under-the-eye bags you'd expect on an older bloke. He stares at his reflection intently. Never admirably, only fearfully.

 _What's going to become of me?_


	3. Chapter 3 Flashback

"Honey, you need to talk to me." Her eyes are like shining sapphires staring deep into his soul. Perched high behind her blonde bangs, shining through that gloriously colored hair of hers like beacons in the night. Brie's eyes really were one of her stand-out features. That night when they'd met, her eyes had drawn him into her alone. The eyes of a temptress; those windows to the soul. Although she was a shy and uneasy woman, she was deep and caring. With layers to her personality that even Nate hadn't fully gotten to grips with yet. Despite the mystery that surrounded his girlfriend, he loved her, he knew he did.

For the fifth night in a row, he'd woken in a cold sweat. Nate couldn't exactly put his finger upon what had woken him through the night but whatever it was is clutched it's way upon his mind like the icy cold hand of the grim reaper. Sheets stained with sweat, he'd awake suddenly and uncomfortably. Beside him, soon enough Brie would squirm awake and push toward him. Wrapping her arms around him but always recoiling at the sticky residue of sweat that dripped from every pore. Every night in the past week this had happened. It became routine. He'd shoot awake, panting and then the woman would have to tiredly stalk him to the bathroom whilst requesting what was wrong.

Every time, however, Nate'd shrug and shake his head. Too tired and too wary of how to exactly answer the question. He wasn't stressed for he was never a stressed man. Nate's life was fairly straight forward, with work, a girlfriend and a cosy apartment; things weren't bad. Hell, in his mind he had no right to complain.

However; the dreams. The nightmares were getting him down. On the fifth night, his girlfriend had had enough. It was four am and already he was sat in the lounge of their tiny squalor, clutching a cup of coffee in shaky hands. Trying his best not to drop it rather than actually drink it. His girlfriend looked upon him with worried, afraid eyes. Of course she was concerned, she could see the toll the dreams were having on her other half. He was almost always out of it, knackered and reluctant to do just about anything. She worried about his job. He was a trucker and driving whilst so tired was a scary thought. Concern took over any thoughts in her mind she could ever have for Nate and this time she wouldn't let the sleepless night slide. She needed to know what was wrong.

"Please…" she echoed, reaching a hand out toward his before stroking the palm of his hand with her index finger "Nate, you need to talk to me more."

"I didn't wake up to be bitched at…" his response was lazy, there was little passion in his voice to indicate an argument and the man was far too tired to pretend he cared. The way he saw her mothering him lately was nagging, she didn't really care and it was nothing anyway - that's what he'd tell himself. Although Brie couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes and pulling her hand away, she sighed gently and looked back to him. Her eyes were now a steely blue, firm and wanting.

"Listen, Nate. When you're waking up every night of the week covered in sweat. I worry, okay? You've not been sleeping; I'm worried about you when you go to work…" before the woman could monologue any more of her concerns, Nate held his palm before him and shook it tiredly.

"I'm fine, Brie…fine. You're worryin' way too fuckin' much." Nate looked away toward the floor. He was worried, too. He was barely twenty-five and yet he couldn't get a good night's sleep to save his life.

It'd been a year since he'd completely stopped contact with his family and yet still he saw them in his dreams. Prominently; his father. His girlfriend knew little to nothing about his family; she knew a few bits and pieces, that Nate didn't get along with them, that his sister was kind of stuck-up. But otherwise, nothing. Nate had attended the obligatory BBQ's and other family get-togethers for his girlfriend, but Brie had seen nothing of his 'loved ones'. She'd asked; _of course she'd asked_. About Nate's mother, about his younger sister and even about his father; but every-time he'd found something _better_ to talk about. Whether it be when that sports game he wanted to see was on, or what that guy in that movie's name was.

Now he was finally confronted with a question he had to answer. To tell her about his dreams was yet another nightmare he'd wished not to face, but here he was; with a cup o' Joe and the clock getting quickly onto half four in the morning. Damn, had they really been sitting there that long just shooting one another glares and trying to come up with what the other was thinking? Nate shuddered at the thought.

"It's these nightmares…" his eyes wont look into hers, he prefers the sight of their rustic carpet right now "if I had to tell you somethin'…it's nightmares waking me up."

Brie looks to him with a tilt in her head, those ever-changing beautiful eyes are now looking at what she believes to be a mad man as she sighs aloud and considers the thought of nightmares keeping him awake. You see, Brie was sweet. Sweet as ol' apple pie, but she could be kind of a bitch. Just like any woman.

"Nate, are you serious right now?" Every time she was mad at him, a little crease would form in the center of her forehead and Nate's eyes were always drawn to it. It made arguments hard to take seriously; it was one of his biggest vices. Laughing during their arguments. Brie hated it. His laughing made her angrier which made the furrow in her brow even more hilarious. A viscous cycle of comedy would ensue before eventual make-up sex or sofa-sleep. Either way, Nate got a kick out of it.

Avoiding looking at the line between her brows, he bites his lip to prevent a smirk and shrugs. "Brie. I'm not shitting you. If you didn't wanna know then why did you even fucking ask?" He'd been bitter in his response; for the first time in forever he began to open up and yet he felt shot down instantly. Once again, his eyes look to the ground.

"…" Brie pauses for a few seconds, sighing into herself. She felt a little guilty and maybe she shouldn't have been too hasty. "Tell me about them, honey." Once again her hand had groped his. Her fingers twirling against his and connecting them into a pyramid.

Nate wants to pull his hand away; the five-year-old boy inside of him tells him to tug his fingers from her and curl into a ball. It tells him to scream and shout at her to leave him alone. But the man Nate is quickly silences any inner doubts or feelings he may have. "Well. I've been gettin' 'em for the past week an' like…" his words are spoken in sighs "they're all too real, Brie."

"What happens in them, love?" Brie's reverted from banshee to angel in sixty seconds, an amazing trait of a woman. How can one person even cram so many emotions into themselves without going insane? It baffles Nate for a moment.

"My dad…" Brie's eyes connect with his, but a mini-second has passed before he stares away again. "In the dreams, he's standing there before me. An'…an' he's got this face on him. Y'know, it's the real face of thunder. His eyes, man…his eyes are terrifying me." He takes a second to place his shivering lips against the warm cup of coffee. It's cold, but the bitter taste still helps him recall the nightmare a little easier. "The whole dream, he's looking down at me. An' I mean, the me - is me…if that makes sense? But I feel weak. I feel like a little kid again."

Nate sighs loudly and runs a hand through his hair, it then drags down toward his chin; scratching at his stubble. The tiredness had taken it's toll and already he beginning to grow out a beard. He looked unkempt; Brie had told him every day that week.

"I keep screaming at him. Like, I'm screaming for him to leave me the fuck alone but he doesn't an' then before I know it, man…" He raises his fist in imitation before slamming it down upon a cushion. "Bang! An' it aint just once Brie, it's like..five times before I wake up, hell I don't always keep count." Her hand tightens it's grip of his. "It's like watching a movie that I'm too fucking scared to watch but I can't look away, y'know? I wanna cover my eyes or get the hell outta there but I can't."

"…honey, maybe you should talk to your dad?" Brie knew nothing of their past. She knew Nate rarely spoke of his father and she knew Nate didn't know the first thing of how to respond to father's in general; she'd told that by the way he'd nervously shook her dad's hand the first day he'd met him. But still; she attempted to give her boyfriend advice. "Maybe you're having these dreams because you miss your dad…?"

"No." He snaps in response. There was no other way of answering that question, hell of course he didn't miss his asshole father. No kid would. "Brie." He took a deep breath. Nobody knew what he'd gone through as a child; no one could understand the abuse he'd faced. There was once it'd almost stopped; when he was eleven. After his father had bought home a cat for his family. Sure his mother and sister loved the damn thing, but everyone knew how allergic he was. That much had already been defined since a doctor's visit confirmed it after the neighbor's cat, Scrappy had gotten in. Yet, there he was again; faced with the same mundane threat. Sure it wasn't something that could kill him, but it made rashes Nate now had scars from itching so frantically. It'd made it hard to breath and difficult to swallow food. The boy had lost 15Ibs and gained about three scars before finally a teacher noticed. Mrs. Powell, his science teacher. She'd rather firmly told the family to rid of the cat or she'd get social services involved and quickly it was gone. However, after that; even when asked by teachers and therapists, Nate couldn't open up. The child was stunted and reluctant. His only chance soon faded away and yet another six years of abuse would be endured before he'd finally leave.

"My dad was an asshole. I mean that…" His legs fold out in front of him as he slouches back into the chair. By this point, one hand is now firmly around the coffee, his other against Brie's palm and his eyes intently upon the ground. "I don't mean like other people do when they say that; he didn't walk out on me, he didn't disappoint me on my birthday or not get me a car when I was fuckin' sixteen.." Nate feels the most courageous he's ever felt "he used to beat the shit out of me, Brie. Every day. Til I was about seventeen or so."

Brie's face drops and her eyes become glassy, for a second - just a second, she didn't believe him. But soon enough she can identify the integrity in his words and the intensity of truth in his eyes. Her body language becomes withdrawn and antsy, as though she doesn't know how to respond. Nate looks at her with those green eyes of his, they're almost child-like as he awaits a response. There's blush across his cheeks, he's embarrassed.

"Oh, Nathan…" he cringes when she says his full name, it always makes him cringe because it reminds him of his mother "you never said a thing…"

"Well, it's not really somethin' you go shouting from the rooftops, Brie." He's bitter. Not necessarily at her, but at the situation he finds himself in. "There was never any reason to tell anyone, y'know…" Nate shakes his head. "No one would've done anything anyway. My ma didn't, so why would they?" He finds himself calling his mother 'ma' again, a shoot of nostalgia pulses through his brain and it makes him cringe once more.

Seconds had passed since his confession and he found himself reciting breathing methods under his breath and trying to hold back tears. Soon enough, he's sobbing. Tears well within his eyes and glaze them an emerald-laced amber. His eyebrows pull back into a sad expression and his lips are pulled back into themselves. Bitten hard beneath his teeth. It was the first she'd see him cry. Honestly; he felt embarrassed. And pathetic.

Brie watches her boyfriend's insecurity show. They'd been going steady for a good two years and yet she'd never seen him cry. Sure, he'd been frustrated a few times, he'd even punched a wall or two in the time that they'd been together. But she'd never seen him - weak. Seeing him so vulnerable and defenseless, Brie didn't know just what to say.

"Nate, honey…" her hand caresses his, she tries her best to comfort him but she's not too sure if it's doing much as he pulls his hand from hers abruptly and toward his face. Shielding his tearful eyes from her. "Just…just let it all out."

She sounds like a damn "therapist", he thinks. Immediately he feels like one of those sorry saps on one of them daytime tv shows. Crying their eyes out about X problem while Y presenter comforts them with sweet nothings and false promises. Nate pulls his head away and looks anywhere but her. It was hard enough to come to terms with, let alone watching her reaction. If hell had created a pit in the middle of the living room, it'd just well and truly swallowed him up whole.

He wipes his hand across his tear-stained eyes, a vain attempt to rid them of any moisture. After all, it wasn't right to be seen crying. It wasn't considered masculine. Holding his palm against his arm, his eyes finally meet hers again.

"Brie. I…I don't really wanna talk about it anymore. Maybe it helped just to get that outta my system. I don't really think there's anything else to say." Although he speaks through a shaking breath and minor sobs, the trucker sound confident and firm. He's telling her to leave him alone in the nicest way possible and Brie has her head screwed on well enough to know as much. Solemnly, she nods toward her lover. Accepting of his reluctance to talk, but disapproving of his built-up angst. He must've had so much on his mind, she thought.

The trek back upstairs to the bedroom seemed like a long one, Nate slumped up the stairs before her. The entire way her head hung low and she didn't even take a second glance toward bringing up the mug of coffee she'd made for herself barely ten minutes before. Thoughts were a flutter through her mind in intrusive bursts. Sure, she loved Nate. But she didn't all understand him. His emotions would change at the drop of a hat and although he wasn't dramatic or overbearing, he was unpredictable. And that scared her a little.

Reaching the bedroom, she was last in so she flicked the lights off before joining her man in the vast duvet they shared. While she lay cold with her back turned to him, desperately wanting for him to hold her from behind, her expectations weren't met and instead he pushed himself as close to the far wall as he could. Barely an inch of duvet covered his adorably-average sized body and yet he didn't seem bothered. Brie worried for Nate, she really did. But words would never help her concern. So silence stays prominent.

On her side, she stares with wide eyes at the mirror opposite the bed. On his side, he stares with wide eyes toward the wall he faces. Despite both being wide awake, not a word is uttered between the pair. Brie looks to the mirror with doubt and shame. She's scared because she doesn't know how to tell Nate what she wants to tell him. On the other side, Nate glares at the wall with humility and unease. He'd told her something he'd never told a soul and yet still he didn't feel it was really off of his chest. The man believed were he to admit his past that it'd all go away. But that didn't happen. The truth was much harsher. The truth was that no matter how much you told yourself the past was over, reality would force you to live alongside it as though it was as real and meaningful as the present.

Nate hated that.

Brie crumbles into a fetal position as her eyes are glued to the mirror before her. She analyses her features and it makes her as unhappy as it always does. Not for the same reasons however. Usually, it was her insecurity; her dissatisfaction over her looks no matter how beautiful Nate stated her to be. No, today it was due to her reality. Her present. You see, she was late. Her period was due over two weeks ago and everyday she'd put off a pregnancy test. There was the right time she wanted to tell Nate, but the right time seemed to be never.

Despite both being beside one another in the bed, they couldn't have felt more apart. Nate dealing with the demons of his past while Brie struggled with the worries of her present. That was their truth; their reality.


	4. Chapter 4 Schoolgirl Crush

Day seemed to quickly turn to night. Hours had passed and Nate began to feel cold as his skin pressed against the hard tiles of the pub wall. Breaths and sighs filled any silence that wished to linger within the place of solace and it soon reached the point in which Nate felt he could no longer talk anymore due to his lips being sealed for so long.

What had happened in the bathroom had left them all stunned, shocked and uneasy. It was as though those creatures were _everywhere_. Lurking around every corner and waiting in every den. Paranoia was beginning to kick in and Nate could feel his eyes shifting back and forth between the door and the boarded up windows. Every second that passed he half expected some ghoul to jump through their defenses and drag old Eric to his grizzly demise. He expected it and imagined it but had yet to really see it.

Hands tightened together into a ball above his knees, successfully displaying his tension and discomfort. It was for a few more moments that he sat alone thinking about the people he may or may not ever see again before the group's teenager walked over. Nate had overheard her name be echoed among the gang. It was Britney and in a day-to-day circumstance Nate would've found that damn funny alongside quoting 'hit me baby one more time' to her and begging her not to shave her hair off and suffer a midlife crisis. But this wasn't the day-to-day world, it wasn't normal reality and things weren't humorous. Truthfully speaking; Nate hadn't even cracked a smile upon hearing her name. Instead, he'd exchanged a worried glance with her.

She's barely fifteen and yet she takes a seat down beside Nate; he half didn''t expect her to do so and it makes him feel terribly awkward. The girl barely weighs 98Ibs and is hardly over 5ft 4″. Although pushing fifteen, she's fitted with a babyish face and a short bob of hair. Her breasts are pert under a baggy shirt and Nate would usually notice but he dared not to look. She's underage after all and he was a fan of women; not girls.

The man looks to his right; where she'd sat and he nods. Just how in the hell did a man talk to a teenage girl anyway? He thinks about it; but opts not to say a word. So the nod seems to suffice for now.

"What's your name?" She utters with a strong southern accent, one that made Nate want to plug his ears with whatever he could find it was so damn high-pitched.

"Nate. You're - uh - Britney, right?" He glances at her briefly as he repeats what he reckons to be her name. Upon hearing it, the girl scowls before shaking her head.

"Jus' call me Brit. Britney is so obnoxious."

Nate can't help but laugh in response; so she hates her name. That much was promising. Leaning himself against the wall, he shrugs. "So. What's up, Brit?" His eyes flicker at her; although he's polite he can't help but wander _what the hell did she want anyway_? He was a thirty-something year old guy contemplating what had happened to all the people he'd hated because the world around him had gone to shit and yet here he was sat with a teenage girl on his hip wanting to - _talk_. Damn, the world really had gone to shit.

Britney looked over his features; he was _handsome_. The kind-of older man she'd always had a crush on through school. Britney, for lack of any other explanation was not like the other girl's of Ran City High. Whilst other girls would share stories of their jock boyfriends they'd fucked, or go on feminist rallies. Brit would stay in her room unaffected by the outside world. She'd watch enough movies to make a director blush and she ogled over men double her age. Sure, she was a little strange. But she was a sweet kid.

Nate made her smile although she barely knew him; he reminded her of a teacher she'd had when she was but thirteen-years-old. A Mr. Howels. Her gym teacher, and although he was an asshole he was handsome enough for her to run track every week and even draw pictures of him in her Gym Theory book.

Although she wants to blurt the memory out to the stranger, she resists and keeps it saved herself. She becomes quiet, curling into herself before she speaks.

"N-Nate. I know it's weird; but, I just wanted someone else to speak to..." the girl's blushing and Nate can see it. Which only succeeds in making him feel ten times more uncomfortable. "My ma is the only one who I've been speakin' to and the others jus' seem kinda..borin'." Nate has to practically stop himself from choking out a laugh because he was thinking pretty much the same thing. Although they'd probably all lost someone and were still trying to deal with what looked like the end of the world; he was a little more than fed up with all the doom and gloom.

"Oh kid..." he half-laughs "I aint any fuckin' better..." When he swears he looks at her before tightening his lips and widening his eyes. Placing a finger against his lips, they curl into a smirk as he looks to her. "Oh. Sorry, kid." Brit looks back at the man with a half-raised brow. Sure she was young, _but she wasn't ten_. Hell, half the kids in her year swore like sailors and she'd seen enough 18 rated movies to know the disgusting shit adults got up to in the real world. Truthfully; she wouldn't have been surprised if half of her 'friends' had done said _disgusting shit._

"You don't have to patronise me, Nate." The child speaks firmly toward him; causing him to recoil a little and half scowl. He pretty much wants to scoot away by now and not deal with this shitty behavior. His eyes even flicker toward her mother as if to beg for her to take away but the girl's mother is too indebted into a conversation with the lovely, Tasha. "Nate. Where are you from?" Her demeanor changes like the flick of a switch; sudden and unexpected, to boot, a little jarring.

"I'm local. Have been for the past thirty-one years..." he smirks and so does she. _So he was thirty-one,_ she thinks, _that's a great age to be._ "I - uh - guess there aint much else to say. Told you I was borin', didn't I?" Nate looks to her with a half-smile but the girl seems overjoyed simply just to hear him talk. "Anyway..." he diverts the conversation, hoping to avoid her dreaming eyes "you and your mom? What's your deal?"

"Oh...we just; we were on vacation here. Got up in the mornin' and there were monsters outside the hotel. So, we just ran. Eventually we got here. My dad died." The girl's confidence in her ability to speak overshadows her loneliness and heart-ache. Perhaps the reason she found herself crushing on the stranger was because she liked older men, maybe it was because she simply needed a father. Whatever it was, she ignores it while she stares directly at him; her gaze is unrelenting. "Have you lost anyone, Nate?"

"No..." Brit's eyes look up toward Nate. "Well. I don't think I have. There was nobody really close to me..so..." The teenager's mind was aflutter, so not only was he the right age for her to fall in love with but he was also mysterious too. She imagined him having a dark past; she saw a detective with a dead ex-wife. She saw visions of a man tainted by the world. She saw Dirty Harry, Mad Max and Travis Bickle combined. It bought a day-dreaming smile across her face. One that quickly made Nate stop and sigh under his breath.

"...oh..." the girl doesn't quite know how to respond when she's snapped back into the reality of the saddened man looked toward her with a minor contempt. Unknowing of the right thing to say; she simply stays quiet instead. Folding herself even further into her own knees.

"I mean, I had an ex..." _it's an ex, no need to worry, Brit,_ she tells herself immaturely. "But...I don't know if she would've survived all o' this." Nate has to stop himself from cussing Brie out. From tainting her name with the poison of his bitterness. It takes him a lot of effort, but he succeeds in not talking smack about her for once. "She was tough as nails when I was with her so...she probably could survive."

The teenager says a mumble in response, but honestly; Nate doesn't dwell on it for too long. Instead, his mind is distracted by other thoughts. Thinking about his family and ex girlfriend, he begins to actually take a moment to consider just how they were probably doing. Before hand, he didn't want to dwell on it too much; for one, he didn't want to upset himself. For two, they probably weren't thinking of him. Seconds of silence go by and Nate finds himself now seriously taking in the responsibility of having loved ones. He finds himself genuinely questioning how they were doing or where they were. His first thoughts being about Brie. She may have been sort-of a bitch, but you don't spend eight years of your life with someone only to not give a good goddamn whether or not they've been eaten alive by the undead.

Nate begins to chew his bottom lip; a strange characteristic of both boredom and anxiety that he hadn't really exhibited since college. The entire time he sits with half-closed eyes thinking about what may or may not have happened to his family, Brit sits staring at him. She's intrigued by him; beguiled by his strange distance. The girl spent plenty of time looking way too much into things and right now it seemed to keep her mind at ease amidst all of the chaos. Realistically; any other girl who'd lost their father but a few hours before would've been inconsolable and balling, but not Brit. For Brit wasn't like most girls anyway.

Instead of sadness; she occupied her mind with the tangent wandering thought of what kind of lover the stranger beside her was. Did he do it similar with his ex, Brie as the couple in Don't Look Now, or was it more like Marlon Brando and that chick in Last Tango in Paris? Her ideas were enthusiastic and her imagination bold. The truth was that Britney found it easier to spend more time dwelling in her dreams than she did the reality of the situation. Dreams made the reality easier to face; even if other people didn't like to admit it.

"Are you okay?" The girl snaps from her thoughts to mumble the question; since she'd asked, Nate seemed quiet and a little too deep in thought. Although she found those olive eyes of his rather beautiful, it still threw her off seeing him so silent.

"Fine. Jus' thinking. Wondering how long we're plannin' on being hauled up in this shithole." A swear escapes him again, causing him to sigh a little, There was something about scoffing a swear before anyone under the age of eighteen that unsettled Nate. Primarily because Nate saw _anyone_ under the age of eighteen as being around _twelve._

"Oh, I know what you mean. It's - it's horrible in here." Her hands squeezed her arms, she seemed even smaller all curled up like that. Nate shivers against the cold also, before he takes stand. Brit's eyes follow his body rise to height. She could say a hundred and one crude things but she decides against doing that and instead thinks them with a smirk.

"Hey - everyone." The group's attention is pulled toward the trucker. Upon catching their glances, he clears his throat and shuffles his dress a little awkwardly. "I'm gonna be straight with you all. You're a cool bunch of people and you have a swell set-up here. But. I have to leave."

Tasha gasps and Olivia shakes her head; especially so at her teenage daughter. Eric doesn't seem to even take note but Greg seems to take it especially hard. Rageful, he shoots forward before doing possibly the quietest shout known to man. His attempt at looking mean while avoiding drawing any attention of the creatures outside.

"The fuck do you mean - you're leavin'?!" Greg stares at Nate with a real audacity; one that suggest he owns the group. One that'd even go so far as to suggest that he owns Nate.

"Well, man. What I mean by that - is that, I am leaving. As in, going. Gone. Bye. See you later.." Nate sighs, his arms reason into open palms and his head droops. "Fact is; you guys know what happened to your friends...your family. I never got a chance to know. So I gotta leave this building. I gotta see for myself what's goin' on."

"You've already fuckin' seen what's happening outside!" Greg reasons through half-shouts. Truthfully: Greg didn't want Nate to leave because who else would help with all the back-breaking work? Eric was way too damn frail and the girl's too short. He needed Nate.

"But I aint, man. I came here straight away! I saw a chick get eaten and some dead dudes. I didn't see any military, I didn't see any cops! I didn't see anything that'd help. Listen, guys; I need to find out what's happened to the people I know." Faces flicker through his mind; his ex, his sister, parents; hell, even co-workers. After Nate's rant; the other's expression's appear to drop. Brit even feels slightly guilty; assuming that she'd caused him leaving by asking.

"Nate, are you sure that this is what you want?" Tasha's voice is shaking and yet reasonable. The woman edges toward Nate with sad eyes combined with frowning lips. Sure she was concerned, for all she'd seen out in the city were corpses and monsters. A fate she wouldn't wish upon anybody.

"Yes. I gotta go. I jus'...need to find a few things out, hell; I can come back if you people want me to." Greg frowns in response to Nate; annoyed by his arrogance. However, he doesn't respond. Instead, he turns his back on the stranger and wanders toward the bar. Intent on drinking anything he could get his hands upon. Tasha grimaces at the floor while Olivia indicates for Brit to run over to her. Before anything is done, however, Brit stands and looks to Nate with a sad gleam in her sapphire gaze.

"Can I come with you?" She asks; still dreaming.

"No." He replies firmly; he half feels guilty for telling her so bluntly, but with her mother's eyes piercing him like hawk talons and his need to be alone again itching within him, he has to do so. The kid would only be a hindrance anyway and if Brie were to see the two together, she'd spout all kinds of twisted nonsense he wouldn't be able to talk himself out of.

"Look. I'll come back. I wont be long." He mumbles before edging toward the door. Silence is interrupted by him twisting the door knob and unsealing the hatches. "When I'm back, I'll knock three times. You understand?"

"Nate!" Greg turns toward him; his face is still mean, but his tone has lightened. He smoothly wanders toward the trucker before handing him what appears to be a baseball bat. "Take it, man. Bash 'em in the head; just like you did in the bathrooms. Just don't get fucking cornered by those bastards and you should be fine." Nate takes the bat with vigor, it was a welcome help.

Swinging the bat to his side like a proud child, he grins at the biker. "No sweat, right? I got this by the balls." With a nod and a pat upon his shoulder, Nate takes his leave. Cracking open the door into a narrow slit; Brit watches with sadness as her 'hero' leaves, her feelings rather dejected by his denial of her. Tasha waves a silent goodbye and Eric and Olivia both turn away indifferently.

After shutting the door, Nate turns to face what the world had become in a day. The sun had long gone down and the town was tainted with darkness. In the air lingered the smell of blood and death, followed closely by the shambling corpses of yesterday. Heat bounced off of his skin and the air felt heavy; _he felt afraid._ It was as though the city itself had been swallowed by hell; that was the only way Nate could've described his surroundings. Fires raged in the distance; shop glasses were smashes and bodies laid strewn about like a goddamn war zone.

The trucker raises the bat beside him before taking a few steps forward. His fear restricts his mind from remembering the way to Brie's apartment for a few moments before he finally snaps out of it and decides to head north. _Through the center or town._

"This is gonna be a fuckin' cake walk." His voice shakes audibly against the wind. It's damn freezing and Nate regrets not taking a jacket with him when he'd left. Cautiously, he creeps forward through the blood and chaos. Not allowing himself to become a slave to his fear. He notices the odd ghoul wander past; but the slower he moves, the more they don't seem to take notice. He catches onto it quickly; utilizing his theory through, small, wise steps.

His walk consists of him thinking about Brie; things had ended badly, that much was certain. But he still cared about her. Give the man a few too many and he probably would've told you that he still loved her, too. Even if he did spike her name with acid every time he said it, he still considered her the closest thing he had to _anything._

* * *

 _"_ _Honey, I'm pregnant." The words echoed through his mind like the silent secrets whispered against a mountain's wall. Nate didn't know how to take it at the time. After all, he was certain she'd gotten the implant. That's what she'd told him anyway. So naturally, when she'd uttered the meaningful words, he hadn't known how to respond. Firstly, it was a smile. Then quickly, a frown._

 _"_ _I thought you had the implant, babe." Brie had gone quiet from his question._

 _"_ _So you can't just be fucking happy for us, Nate? I'm over thirty. We need to have a baby now."_

 _Nate's body had shook with anger that day. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" He'd shouted at her. When most new parents would've been celebrating, they were arguing. Nate didn't want children and she'd known that much. What she'd done was unforgivable, it was possibly worse than her cheating and Nate was certain of that much._

 _Despite the bitterness and anger that'd taken hold of the two, they persevered. Nate had decided were they to have a baby; it'd be a child he'd care for. One who wouldn't bare the brunt of his father's rage like he once had._

 _He promised himself that; that he'd be a good father. Even if it meant staying with a woman he wasn't sure he really loved anymore._


	5. Chapter 5 The House

Night had fallen upon the ruined town. It'd fallen hard and fast just like the apocalypse that'd hit them but a day before. Within an instant, it felt as though Nate was edging his way through the darkness rather than wading through the light of a clear day. How quickly it'd happened baffled him, for a few seconds he found himself actually thinking about it. Actually wondering just how a man doesn't notice the time fly by. His lost thoughts were but a mere ruse for his fear of his surroundings. Were honesty to bite him hard in the ass he'd have to admit that he simply didn't want to think about anything right now. With a mind full of thoughts; rather than overthink what may or may not have happened to his family, or whatever may have caused the uprising of the seemingly undead, he'd instead think of whatever else. Whether that may be the darkness that'd surrounded him or time itself. His mind was away with fear.

His knees shake when he sees something as horrid as the last thing; a corpse with it's eye gouged from it's face. The body of it rolled over the pavement; indicating that whoever it was, they were running before they were got. Sadly enough, their initial wounds don't resemble that of bite marks but instead that of bullet holes. Any thought that'd tried to substitute Nate's true feelings within him were now well and truly pushed out by the image. Eyes glaze over the body; the bullet holes taunt him with images of a vicious kind. For a split second, he wanders if the person was one of them before or after they're been shot. Now, he was shivering even more so than before.

Flesh adorned with goosebumps while the wind bounced off of his skin, he shakes his head before continuing forward. He couldn't let this stop him. Were he to break down or even stop by the corpse for too long; only more of them would come. Nate was smart enough to realize this. He felt himself savvy-enough to just keep going. No matter the obstacle.

With a heavy heart, he creeps forward. The town is dimly lit yet the street lamps still illuminate the way as much as they can. Luckily, the power hadn't gone out just yet. It seemed as though there was something positive still in the world. Within the space of a day the world really had gone to shit. Every pothole and every shabby pavement seemed more prominent than ever in it's grizzly shade of red.

Nate's heart didn't seem to stop racing; the beats were rapid and worried. Were it a normal day and he would've felt he'd drank too much or snorted something. The banging of such a drum was quickly halted by a noise. One from around the corner, the closest alley-way to his step. For those few seconds, time appeared to stop. What felt like the ages but was actually seconds passed before his heart resumed those terrifyingly fast beats.

Eyes fire like bullets toward the source of the sound, he's distracted from any thought he was previously having and now he's even more so on edge to boot. His earlier gift given to him by the loudmouthed Greg was a welcome present now that his wits were nearing their end. He raises it above his head, holding it in a position ready to strike whatever motherfucker was going to come at him. Nate's not afraid; or at least, that's what he tells himself. "I got this" he repeats to himself in a chiming mantra, hoping his words would give him strength and hopefully steel-coat the baseball bat he holds so firmly against his sweating palms.

Shadows ripple against the concrete tiles of the floor before him and now Nate knows for certain the noise was not created by his mind alone. Something is before him, something is coming his way and something could very well be one of those damn things. He thinks back to the bathrooms. The ghastly figure sprawled across the stools, bathed in blood and rotten in stench. Simply thinking of the creature causes his nostrils to flare into wide creases and a reflex in his throat as he swears the wretched smell hits him all over again. After all, the stench of death was one not so easily forgotten.

The dancing shadows frighten him into standing his ground. There'd be no running away and yet he sure as hell wasn't going to charge toward the monster. No sir, was he going to do something as foolish as that. So instead, he takes stand and he watches. Slow steps are taken toward him, they're almost cautious. Too cautious to be that of a monster's, he thinks, perhaps even hopes. Despite observation, Nate remains still. Fearful of going any further.

It isn't until a moment has passed that he hears the whisper of somebody saying 'fuck' under their breath. Whoever the mystery figure is, their breath is shaky and their voice near-silent. Whoever they were; they didn't wish to be spotted. Same as he. Nate lowers the bat beside him, still gripping it tight enough however to spring to his defenses if need be. The looming stranger edges around the corner and Nate's heart pounds with every step. An undead was bad, a bandit or a murderer; potentially worse and although he hates to jump to conclusions, the bullet-riddled body from earlier forces the idea toward the forefront of his mind.

"N…Nate.." The whisper becomes a stutter. A stutter he can make out as his name, causing him to totally lower his guard and trek a little forward. Curious, he spies around the corner only to spot a familiar face before him. Brit, the young girl he'd met at the bar. Her widened eyes are a shining blue against the red raw rings which surround them. She'd been crying, he assumed. Nate drops any guard he may have had before completely, dropping the bat beside his hip and even sighing a little.

"Brit? Wh-what the fuck are you doin' here?" Nate seems less angry by her appearance and more stern than anything. First and foremost he wonders why the hell she was there, secondly he had half a mind to drag her back to the pub kicking and screaming. His firm features shape into the kind of look a disappointed father gives their child after they've acted up. As though he's ready to scold her and her disobedience.

"Nate, I had to!" A loud-whisper leaves her lips. Without hesitation, the child jumps forward against his torso. Wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into an unwelcome hug. Nate relents, placing an awkward arm around her while the other begins to slowly push her off; pissed off by her apparent lack of respect for personal space as well as her need for following him. "Brit. Seriously, what the fuck?" He says, looking down at her through the small distance now separating them. "Why the hell are you here?"

She looks half-sad. Upset that her hero was so reluctant to see her, but also angry he didn't welcome her help with the open arms she'd welcomed him with. "Nate. I wanted to come with you. I'm like you. I couldn't stay put there." The comment bothers him. It even creates a twinge of a crow's foot in the corner of his eye and a furrow between his brow. Were the girl older and he would've told her to fuck right off back to the pub. However, she's young and he has to remind himself of that to stop himself from totally snapping. He takes in a long breath, the two exchange a glance. "And what about your ma, Brit? Hm? You just leave her there worrying about your ass?" He's ever scolding in his tone.

"Well..I left a note." The girl eyes the floor, clutching her hands together and entwining her fingers because she knows there's an ounce of wrong to what she's done. After all; her mother had just lost a husband and Nate immediately understands that the child was now in -his care. Were anything to happen to her, he'd be the one telling the woman that she'd now lost a child, too. Bitter feelings spew forth to the surface and display themselves across his pissed off features. Nate could flip.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he clenches his fist and looks away angrily. It was too far to take her back to the pub now. Too damn dark and too unsafe to go the way he'd come. Frustration builds before he shakes his head and meets his hips with his palms. "Fine. You're coming with me" he looks back to her "but you stay close to me. You don't fuckin' leave my side. You see something interesting, you tell me. Don't check it out yourself, you want to make a noise - you tap my arm first. We can't afford luring those bastards to us, you understand?"

He's so stern. Stern enough for the woman she'd grow into one day to find strangely attractive but also stern enough for the child within her to feel a little scared. Brit was at that awkward age where her feelings didn't really tell her the correct way to act. Whether she should smile and salute or crumble and nod shyly. Sides debate but ultimately it's a stalemate when she decides to instead meekly say 'yes sir' with a pair of terribly admiring eyes.

After nodding her way and turning back to the road, he points for her to follow him. To stay close. As they creep against the long-due rising dawn, he whispers. "Brie lives on Terwin Avenue. No. 4. It's a shitty little place, you'll know it when you see it. She never cuts the grass." He speaks as though he's bothered that she never cut the grass. Like it was something they still argued about despite not being an item for the past few months. Brit takes note of his use of tenses, but says nothing. Instead agreeing with a nod.

When they reach the edge of the path, there's a lone creature. Festering upon something dead. Mouthing the entrails of whatever it was with hungry lips. Nate's palm immediately holds Brit back. Instinctively, almost. "Stay." He commands and although her first thought is 'I'm not a dog', she quickly obliges. Terwin Avenue is a blink of an eye away and all that separates him from his destiny is the lone being. This had to be done quietly. With such a thought in mind, he creeps toward it. Upon approaching it's back, he sees what it's eating. Hell, he should've expected it. A person. Some woman who's name he'd never know and who's face he'd probably never even seen before. Regardless, it still saddens him to look at.

Swallowing back any doubt or solemness, he rises the bat high above his head. He'd whisper something - but there's nothing to say. The bat crashes down upon the ghoul's head, cracking it's skull and pushing him down upon the corpse. Once to get him down, twice to keep him down. After he's done committing the act, he can't even tell who's blood was who's upon the ground. His frown remains still upon his features.

"C'mon!" He shouts as quietly as he can to Britney. Her small frame runs with shadows and gets to him quick enough. The girl may have been weak, but she was quick. Nate noted that. For a few seconds, she lingers against the gore. Eyeing it with an expression Nate can't quite understand. She didn't exactly display shock or horror, more…indifference. The icy cold child he'd met back at the pub seemed to return for those few seconds before her eyes looked back up to him and she nodded. "We should go."

Brie's was close now. Merely a house away. The pair had already began to walk as the road seemed pretty much empty of corpses or monsters. The thought even gave Nate some comfort. Some comfort that the woman he told himself he hated but so desperately looked to sought out was still alive. "Is this it?" Britney looked to him while pointing to a house. The garden, unkempt. The windows, smashed. Nate's heart rose through to his throat upon seeing the damage. Immediately, he assumed the worst. "Yes." He spoke quietly, somehow not allowing the twisting knot in his stomach to tighten anymore.

"Nate. Are you okay?" Britney looked toward the mystery with a puzzled gaze. He was human after all. "Fine, jus' fine." He responded quickly, almost a snap. Edging forward, he pushed the gate open; creating a familiar creak and began to step slowly through the overgrown grass of the front garden. Things were so quiet which only made the man more nervous. Him and Brie may have gone through some bad shit, but a lot of the bad shit was nothing compared to the good. He'd loved her. Love was a big deal, too. For Nate, you couldn't simply stop loving someone. Sure, he'd tell everyone she was a bitch. He'd tell himself that he hated her. But, deep down, he knew and she probably did too, that they'd had something special.

Once again panic sets in and his heart begins to race; Nate can feel sweat across his brow and the only thing stopping him from any kind of breakdown is the child that closely follows him. The one he feels he must protect.

The door was unlocked; left ajar by only god knew what. It makes his heart jump even faster. She couldn't be dead. That wouldn't be -fair. Fingering the handle, he pushes the door totally wide before looking back to Brit. "You stay fuckin' close, okay?" Her response is a shrug and an eye roll. "I know, you said before." Too worried to respond to her attitude, he continues forward.

"Brie…" He whispers, loudly. Looking in each room; hoping to see something, anything, that wasn't the corpse of his ex-lover. "Brie, it's Nate…c'mon.." Britney watches the man's desperation. For a few moments, she actually feels as though she's falling out of love with the mystery as he begins to unravel before her as a sad, wanting man. "Look, I know I've been an asshole…bu…but -I need you, Brie."

He's sweet-talking nothing and him and Brit both know it. The house was surely empty. Evacuated perhaps the night before or maybe even the morning of the terror. Still, Nate would've expected a message, a call. Anything. There's still lingering doubt in his mind that Brie would be somewhere in the house. Maybe not even as one of them things but just simply dead. A garish scene plays within his head, one he hopes is merely fiction, one he hopes -merely stays that way.

"Nate…" Britney whispers. "I don't think she's here. Maybe she left…" But where would she go? Nate would've assumed to him. That her first port of call would've been her fucked up ex with whom she'd had enough debates with to make any member of the UN blush. That's what he would've assumed. Knowing that he wasn't, knowing she paid him no mind saddened him. It made his temper boil. Ready to burst from him like the steam of a kettle. He was ready to rage. However, once more Britney stopped him from anything rash. Her innocent eyes looked up at his and her lips had pulled low into a frown. "Nate, at least she's not dead." The child thought of her father. Honestly, she wanted to sob. But with the strength she'd given him not to lose his temper, it seemed his returning glance had given her the strength not to cry.

"Y…you're right." He answered firmly. Treading into the front room, the first thing he's met by is a photo upon the coffee table. One of himself and her. The way it lay looked as though it was something considered before she'd taken off. There were items scattered upon the floor and couch that indicated a quick get away and yet the photo told him the most of a story. Melancholy in his body language, with flopped arms and loose grip of his weapon, he sat himself opposite the frame.

The picture was old. One taken of the pair at one of her family's get-togethers. He'd been only 26 when it was taken and had a grown out shaggy bunch of hair. Despite his lazy lackluster appearance, his smile was wide and bright. Illuminated by hers. In the image, she looked flustered, but happy. Cheeks red with alcohol but still a beauty that remained captivating. Nate couldn't help but smile at the image. A smile Brit found quite odd. One that appeared both happy and sad. The crook of the corner of his mouth edged down ever so slightly enough to indicate his longing and upset. His nostalgia saddened the teenager. Even if she didn't really know what love meant; she knew it waspainful.

Dry fingers touched upon the photograph with a need only himself and Brie would've ever understood. Any bad blood between them didn't seem to matter now that the apocalypse surrounded him. If anything, it seemed redundant now. Within an instant, he cracked the frame of the photo upon the table. It was loud enough to make Brit squirm but also something she understood the reason behind.

He slipped the photo from it's holder, folding it gently and pushing it into the back pocket of his jeans. It was something he could keep hold of; perhaps even remind himself with that he had -something to fight for.

Scooting upon the sofa and edging in close to him, she looked up at the man. Eyes as sad as his. "Don't worry, Nate." Her father's face flickered heavy in her mind. "We'll find her, I promise." Reassurance from the child was appreciated, even if he didn't believe her. For the first time since meeting him, Brit saw him as a man. She looked at him with the same eyes she looked upon her father with. Seeing him vulnerable, -torn even was enough to make her realize the dream was not a reality. Nate was no super hero, nor was he the mysterious man in any movie.

He was a human.


End file.
